


How It's Not Supposed To Start

by iftodaywasyourlastday



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bruises, Classic Rock, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Indie Music, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Student Newt (Maze Runner), criminal thomas, give it a try please, i listen too much to music, newt is a literature student, or he tries to be, there's a playlist inspired by this, thomas is a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iftodaywasyourlastday/pseuds/iftodaywasyourlastday
Summary: Newt really didn't need a random boy to break into his car - and his routine - to hide from the cops. But then again, maybe he did need it. And maybe the boy isn't that weird.
Relationships: Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	How It's Not Supposed To Start

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy thanks for clicking on this even tho the summary sucks cuz i don't know how to do that. check the end note for the links to my playlist!  
> (english isn't my first language so sorry if some sentences don't make any sense, i try my best)  
> good reading!

The keys clicked in the lock and the coffee shop was finally out of business for the day. Newt had been waiting to hear this faint click, the oh so long-awaited sound signaling the beginning of his weekend. 

On Fridays, Newt was the one to close the shop, meaning he also had to clean up the booths, wipe the counter and rinse the last cups. He didn’t mind working alone. However, he did mind staying until 10pm, waiting for customers who would never push the door. Because, let’s be honest, not many people go get a hot chocolate or a coffee on a Friday night in this big city. But no matter how often Newt tried telling his manager that waiting for ghosts seemed quite counterproductive, she refused to move up closing time. 

Thus, there he was, looking up at another cold night sky, his feet on the snow-covered pavement. He thought about the unfinished assignment resting on his desk, in his shoe box of an apartment, and the dirty clothes under his bed that he forgot to take to the laundromat this morning.

The freezing wind snapped him back to reality, flooding his brain with the sound of car horns in the distance. His tiny car was parked just a few meters away. He wrapped his scarf even more tightly around his neck and above his ears. A cold was definitely the last thing Newt needed, considering he would have to spend the whole weekend studying for the upcoming exams. 

He hastily walked over to the beat-up car he got for barely a thousand dollars in some dubious garage. The only accessory he requested in a car was a workable CD player for his mixtapes. Newt got what he wanted, and so far the car hadn’t given up on him, so he wasn’t complaining. 

Tossing his backpack on the passenger seat, he settled in front of the wheel. He reached for the glove box and picked a random CD in the pile. Cat Stevens’s voice started resonating in the enclosed space and Newt turned the volume up. As the chorus came closer, Newt was already singing his heart out. 

What he didn’t expect was for the door to snap open on the passenger side, making him jump in surprise with a guttural scream scratching his throat.

-

Just a few minutes earlier, a brown-haired guy was speeding through streets, sirens blaring behind him. He slipped on the frost covering the ground more than once, taking sudden turns, hoping to lose the car following him. His breathing kept accelerating as he hurried past shops and apartment blocks, slaloming between the few passersby he crossed on his way. 

He couldn’t help but laugh, adrenaline rushing through his veins. The feeling made him run even faster, duplicating his senses. His eyes were scanning everywhere, looking for a place to hide. The car couldn’t follow him in the narrow street which opened on a larger avenue, where he could see cars parked, illuminated by lampposts. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, so he sped up again.

Bursting out of the alley, he stopped dead in his tracks. The police had to get around a whole block to get where he was, so he took the opportunity to properly think of a hideout. He figured he wouldn’t be able to lose the cops by running. The rush he sensed earlier was already fading out, leaving room to the worry he had pushed to the back of his mind. 

In the corner of his eye, he saw someone get in their car. The idea popped in his head out of nowhere. At least he wouldn’t be committing another crime by forcing his way into some shop or one of the buildings... Still considering the few options he had, he heard the sirens suddenly get closer. He didn’t ponder anymore on the question and ran towards the junker parked on the side of the road.

-

“WHAT THE HELL,” yelled Newt, almost out of breath after the scream of surprise escaped his mouth. 

Some guy was sitting on the passenger seat of his car and the music was still playing loudly. _Ooh, baby, baby, it’s a wild world._ He looked like he had been run over with his hair pointing in every direction, his bruised face and dirty clothes.

“Get the hell out of my car, right now!” Newt said, pushing the guy towards the door. “And you’re crushing my backpack!”

Newt reached for his bag and threw it on the backseat. He stopped screaming for a minute, to take a proper look at the asshole who got into his car. The other guy kept looking out the window as sirens got closer, without saying anything. _Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there, but just remember there's a lot of bad and beware._ Newt saw a police car flash by and the boy shrank in his seat, hiding behind the glove box.

“Oh my god, they’re looking for you,” Newt muttered, eyes wide with realization. “Tell me you didn’t kill anyone.” 

He wasn’t even looking at him. 

“You broke into my bloody car, could you at least have the decency to answer me?” Newt was trying really hard to contain himself.

The runaway finally turned to Newt, taking deep breaths as if he had ran a marathon. Newt figured he probably just did, considering he was being chased by the cops.

“Technically, I did not break into anything, because it was already open.”

Newt couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. 

“Mate, don’t tempt me. My phone is right there’” he said, pointing to his pocket. “And I won’t hesitate to call them on you.”

The brown-haired boy tensed at the threat and put his hands in the air. “Okay, okay, no more snarky remarks. Got it.” Newt started him down, still waiting for an answer, eyebrows raised expectantly. “And no, I am not convicted of murder.” 

“Well, what a relief,” said the blond boy with a fake laugh. “Now get out of my car.”

Newt started the engine, looking at the guy impatiently. The song came close to an end when Newt realized it was still playing very loudly and turned it off.

“I really like that song,” said the escapee.

Newt sighed in annoyance, his hands griping the wheel tightly. “Okay, nice, I’m delighted to know that about you, guy who BROKE INTO MY CAR.” He was getting tired of this and just wanted to go home. “Now, I’m gonna say it one last-”

Wailing sirens cut him in the middle of his sentence as the bruised guy’s head snapped towards the sound. “Drive. Please drive.”

The police car was on the closest street, they were coming back on their tracks.

“There’s no way I’m gonna help you, so GET OUT,” Newt ordered.

Red and blue lights came into Newt’s field of vision. The police had just turned into their street, driving slowly, less than a kilometer away.

“You know they’re looking closely. I can’t get out because they’ll see your car. But we can’t wait for them to cross us, they will definitely come and question us. You just have to drive away, slowly and drop me off wherever you want. Even if it’s just on the next street. Please.”

Newt’s blood was starting to boil in his veins. He knew the guy was – mostly – right, but he also knew there were other possibilities… that he couldn’t even think of. His brain was blanking. And just to prove the arsehole’s point, the outside rear-view mirror reflected one of the officers getting out of the car to question a passerby. What did he even do for them to look this hard for him? For all he knew, the guy could be a complete sociopath. 

Maybe it was his need to be home. Or maybe it was the pleading brown eyes. 

But Newt gave in.

-

With sweaty hands on the wheel, Newt drove carefully. He got out of the parking spot, trying not to look suspicious. Can you even look suspicious while driving? He’d never felt this stressed in his entire life. For a second, Newt was really considering pushing the guy out of his car. But then again, he really didn’t want to end up in custody. 

The officer was still talking to a woman on the sidewalk. Newt stopped at the sign, his eyes stuck on the rear-view mirror. He turned left, and after a few seconds the lights were out of sight. As they kept going through the avenue, they saw the police car turn right at the intersection. 

Newt and the boy let out a deep sigh seeing the police drive further and further away from them. The sidewalks were empty except for one or two groups of friends heading to some club for the night. Each lamppost they drove past immersed the car in a halo of light. Outside, the snow started falling again from the starless night sky.

Pressing the play button, Newt hoped to drown out the silence. _You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere._ He chuckled dryly to himself. The irony.

The other boy hadn’t muttered a single word since they left. Tracy Chapman’s voice filled the space, constricted by the uneasiness floating in the air. Newt was mentally listing every crime he knew. That was a very bad idea. Each add to the list seemed worse than the previous one. He didn’t feel in control of the situation. At all. Where would he drop him off? Should he contact the police anonymously after that? What if the boy never leaves him alone? _You gotta make a decision, leave tonight or live and die this way._

“I really hope you didn’t kill or rape or kidnap anyone, criminal,” he let out, his eyes still on the road ahead. 

The passenger gasped. “My name is Thomas,” he said, turning to Newt. “And I’m not a criminal.”

“You’re running away from the cops. I’m allowed to call you a criminal,” replied Newt, quickly glancing at the boy. “And an arsehole.”

“Fair enough. Bur what if I’m really not a criminal?”

“Then arsehole still works for me.”

-

Newt’s foot hit the breaks. “Don’t make me say again this time: please, get out now.”

He had stopped the car a couple of blocks away from his building and was looking directly at Thomas for the first time. Newt’s face was closed and focused, his brain still in overdrive. _Baby Driver_ was the next song on the mixtape. Newt’s fingers tapped along to the song on the wheel, trying to get away from the questions flooding his head.

Thomas still wasn’t moving, so Newt bent over the passenger seat and pushed the door open. The brown-haired boy snapped out of his reverie. As he was about to step out, one foot on the pavement, he said, with a grin, “Thank you for letting me break into your car.”

Newt pushed the hair falling on his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. Thomas closed the door, stepped in front of the car to cross the street and bowed down. The blonde boy couldn’t help but chuckle and yelled “ARSEHOLE” through the windshield. Thomas laughed and walked away, making his way to the pavement on the opposite side of the road. 

-

Stepping into his apartment, Newt tripped over a shirt. After taking off his shoes and jacket, he took his unfinished essay and jumped on his bed. _‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley and the pursuit of happiness._

Reading it for the tenth time and Newt still couldn’t figure out how to end it. He didn’t know whether to blame his incapacity to properly think on the late night or on the boy who wrecked his usually boring routine.

He looked at the mess on the ugly carpeted floor and sighed. Newt figured he wouldn’t get anything done and he most certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep either. So he grabbed all of his dirty clothes, tossed them in a plastic bag and made his way to the laundromat. 

-

Newt sat on the floor, his back to the wall as his eyes followed the never ending loop of the washing machine. He was listening to _Hurricane_ by Bob Dylan, the wind outside was getting stronger and the snow hadn’t stopped falling. A freezing draft hit his face when the door opened. Newt held his arms close to his body in a failed attempt to warm himself up but he could feel the goosebumps on his arms. He really didn’t expect anyone to walk in. As soon as Newt looked up to see who else felt like washing their clothes on a late Friday night, he jumped to his feet.

“Bloody hell, were you following me?” Newt blurted out, leaning against the wall.

Thomas looked just as surprised to see him there, but Newt wasn’t gonna trust the other’s facial expression. He still hadn’t cross off “sociopath” from the list in his head.

“Can’t get rid of you, it seems.”

“Saying that really doesn’t help your case, arsehole,” said Newt. “Could’ve at least tried to fool me into believing you’re not a total creep.”

Thomas sucked in a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t following you, I swear! Not my fault you happen to be in the only heated public space on this block.”

Newt frowned and slid against the wall to sit back down. “What are you even doing here anyway? What kind of criminal hangs in laundromats at this hour?”

“You got a lot of questions,” Thomas retorted, rubbing his hands together so his fingers don’t fall off because of the cold. “Already told you, this is the only open and heated place on the block.”

Newt didn’t say anything after that. He watched as Thomas sat down against on of the dryers, analyzing the cuts on his knuckles. The next song started. _You don’t know nothing, just pretend you do. I need something, tell me something new._ The blonde boy was lost in his train of thoughts once again but his interest had shifted from Huxley’s utopian dream to the profile of the bruised boy in front of him. He was so absorbed in his observation that he didn’t even hear Thomas.

“Hey? You listening?,” the brown-haired boy asked.

“Hm. What?”

“I said, I could ask you the same question. Why are you here so late?”

Newt blinked a few times, trying to shake off his daydream, before saying “Because my laundry is dirty.”

Thomas scoffed, “And can I ask what your name is?” He turned to look at Newt.

“Not yet. I’m still suspicious.”

“I don’t really get your logic there... but who am I to judge.”

And they went silent again. Newt had a hard time figuring that boy out. After several minutes of staring him down, he concluded that the boy really didn’t look that menacing, despite the cuts and bruises. _What in the world did you do to get chased by the police?_

“Can’t tell you yet. Still suspicious,” Thomas said before Newt even realized he had spoken out loud. The blonde boy kept a straight face while glaring at the other. 

“What?,” snickered Thomas, “You had it coming.”

Newt reached into his jacket pocket to take one of his numerous copies of the book he was studying. Pages were covered in highlight with bits of paper stuck in the crease because there wasn’t enough room on the page to take notes. He read some of the passages he might have skipped while writing his essay, trying to get to the bottom of it.

Thomas rested his head against the dryer, closing his eyes. Since he probably wasn’t going home anytime soon, he could try to nap for a while. 

It was when the sound of the machine abruptly stopped that Newt got out of his book. Thomas looked like he had fallen asleep. The blonde boy got up and put the clean clothes in the closest dryer, just above Thomas’ head. A pair of jeans slipped out of the pile and landed right on his face, the wetness waking him up right away.

“Whoops, sorry,” whispered Newt, still not knowing how to act around him.

“No worries.” Thomas stood up and helped him pack the dryer.

The machine wobbled as it started. Newt turned to the other boy, awkwardly standing there. They looked at each other before Thomas said, “Can I know your name now?”

Newt figured if Thomas was going to kill him, knowing his name wouldn’t make much of a difference. “Newt,” he answered.

The boy facing him smiled wildly as if he’d just completed an impossible task. “Nice to meet you then, Newt.”

“The feeling is not really mutual considering the circumstances in which we met, Thomas,” he replied dryly.

“Come on, I didn’t break into your car.”

“You kind of did but I don’t feel like having this argument again.”

“Thank god,” said Thomas, clasping his hand together to pray at the sky.

Newt chuckled and shook his head. The situation still felt very strange but Thomas wasn’t as weird as Newt first thought. They both sat down on the line of washing machines facing the dryers. Thomas picked up Newt’s book laying on the floor. The blonde boy let him. He flicked through the pages, looking at notes and reading the highlighted quotes. 

“Literature major I’m guessing?,” he finally asked.

“Yes.”

Thomas nodded and handed him the pocket copy. He pointed to the earphone Newt still had plugged in his ear, “What are you listening to?”

Slightly laughing, Newt turned to him, “And I’m the one with too many questions?”

“We’re stuck here for another...” Thomas glanced at the timer on the dryer, “...Seventeen minutes. Might as well make them enjoyable.”

“Hey, you’re free to leave anytime, I am not holding you back.”

“Oh, you will be holding me back. You will be.”

Newt didn’t reply. He probably should have found some snarky remark to deny it. But maybe he didn’t want to.

“So…,” Thomas continued, pulling on the other earphone dangling on Newt’s shoulder, “What are you listening to?”

Newt smirked as Thomas put the device to his ear. “ _Telling Stories._ Tracy Chapman.”

They listened in silence after the track came to an end. _There is fiction in the space between, you and everybody. Give us all what we need, give us one more sad sordid story._

“Do you think that _Sometimes a lie is the best thing_?” Thomas asked absent-mindedly.

“Really?” Newt turned to him with raised eyebrows.

“Well, yeah. Still have thirteen minutes to fill.”

Newt shook his head. He pondered on the question for a few seconds and Thomas thought he wouldn’t answer.

“Lies can’t ever be the best thing. Sometimes – in fact, most of the time – it may seem like the easiest way out. But I deeply hate the idea that someone would lie to “protect”. That’s so bloody stupid. To me, it means you think they don’t deserve knowing the truth. That they’re some fragile being who couldn’t bear the weight of reality. The liar is the one afraid of reality, of what it could mean. So afraid that it seems legitimate to hide away the truth to someone who trusts you. Thinking lying is the best choice makes you a coward.” Newt paused, eyes glued to the seconds passing on the timer. “I just don’t understand in what world it would seem right, you know. Life in itself is already a great deal of shit, so there’s not point in lying to “make it easier” or whatever. It’s either tell the truth and face backlash or live outside of reality but constantly afraid.”

Thomas nodded slowly, contemplating the other boy from up close. Newt turned to him because he still hadn’t uttered a single word, “Don’t you have something to say?”

“I have to admit… your accent is really pleasing my ears.”

“Ugh, fuck off,” Newt said in disbelief. “Anything smart you might want to add?” 

“I agree with you. Mostly. But don’t be so harsh on liars. Maybe sometimes it really is the only way out.”

Newt shrugged. “Maybe… but probably not.”

“Okay, okay, I beg to differ but okay,” Thomas raised his hands in defeat.

Minutes passed by as they listened to Newt’s playlist. They were both deep in their own heads, eyes wandering into nothingness. The atmosphere was calm, even seemed familiar, which was absurd, considering the fact they had just met a couple hours ago.

The dryer came to a stop. Newt stared at it for a second and then jumped off the washing machine he sat on. Thomas snapped out of his daydream when the earphone fell, drowning him in silence. He watched Newt pack his clean laundry. The blonde boy turned to Thomas and stood there, not knowing what to say. The uneasiness crept back between them; any content they might have felt mere seconds earlier had vanished into thin air. 

“Um… Are you actually planning on staying here the whole night?” Newt finally asked.

Thomas shrugged, looking unbothered, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Don’t you have your own place to head back to?”

“Well, I don’t wanna risk going back there if the cops decide to hang around. I know I have to go back at some point but I think I’ve done enough running for the day.”

Newt didn’t know what to add. For a moment, he had almost forgot that the guy was a fugitive. “You’re not gonna tell me what you did?”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Curiosity isn’t good enough of an answer?”

Thomas snickered. “It could be, depending on what you decide to do with the information.”

“You make it sound like you’re a third degree murderer. My common sense tells me this isn’t the case,” said Newt as he put all of his stuff in his jacket pockets. Thomas watched him closely.

“I’m a dealer,” Thomas blurted out.

Newt’s eyes were on him in a flash. “Well that wasn’t so hard,” he said with a small smile before tying his scarf around his neck and putting his hood on. Without a word he walked towards the door of the laundromat. He stepped outside and Thomas was still sitting on a machine, dumbstruck. A whirl of cold wind barged into the place.

Thomas saw through the store front the blonde boy about to walk away. Before he could do anything, Newt opened the door again, “What are you waiting for? Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he repeated and dropped the door handle, making his way on the pavement.

-

With hurried steps, Newt arrived at the bottom of his building in just a few minutes, pushed by the biting wind on his back. He looked above his shoulder as he was typing the code to open the door. Thomas had followed him silently, just steps behind. He had his arms crossed tightly on his chest. His thin black hoodie barely protected him from the freezing weather. Newt noticed the bruises on the boy’s face started to turn yellowish, contrasting with the small red cuts all over his cheeks.

Newt lead the way to his apartment. He tossed his plastic bag full of laundry on the sofa of his small studio. On the left of the door was the small bathroom, and on the right a kitchen took up the corner of the room. The wall facing the front door held a large window, under which was Newt’s bed. A curtain served as separation with the small couch and table beside the kitchen. The main characteristic of the place was Newt’s messy piles of books, papers and CDs scattered everywhere. The walls where covered in photographs and movie posters. When Newt turned around, Thomas stood at the doorstep, still.

“You know you can step in, right?”

Thomas snickered and closed the door behind him. “Pardon me for being a bit disturbed at the fact that you went from calling me a criminal asshole, to taking me home on the first night.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is just my pure generosity acting out, not your good looks,” answered Newt as he passed in front of Thomas to get to his small bathroom. 

“You do admit that, in other circumstances, you’d take me home.”

Newt turned a bright red as he hid behind the cupboard door he had just opened. He sighed and pulled out the first aid kit he was looking for. The bruised boy was wildly smiling at Newt when he handed him the kit. “Clean up your face. And please shut up.”

It took Thomas less than ten minutes to take care of the wounds on his face, Newt figured he was used to it. When he told him he was a dealer, Newt didn’t even bother questioning it. He just took pity of Thomas, which may have been a stupid idea. But then the other boy emptied his pockets in the sink, a couple of old cellphones and small stacks of money he must have collected through the day. _Nice, so now you know he didn’t lie, maybe should’ve thought about it earlier before taking him to your place._ He shook his head, scolding himself. What disturbed him most now was the fact that Thomas trusted him enough to tell the truth, without even hiding the money. Then he remembered how easily they acted around each other in the laundromat. All was a bit confusing.

Thomas was still in the bathroom and had taken off his hoodie and shirt. Newt tried not to stare, however he couldn’t help but notice the huge bruise on the boy’s side. 

He finished cleaning up the mess on the small couch, forbidding his eyes to prey on the other boy’s body. He picked up a random CD and put it in the old player. A slow guitar riff opened _Cherry_ by Moose Blood. The blonde boy sang along as he put the clean laundry in his closet when Thomas claimed, “You’re always listening to music.” Newt didn’t say anything, because it sounded like an affirmation, and it was true. 

“So, do you lead some kind of war against silence?”, continued Thomas from the bathroom.

Newt stopped what he was doing to stand straight, eyes focused on the window above his bed. “Silence is for sleep. I’ve always had troubles with sleep,” is what he answered. He was starting to feel comfortable around Thomas, but definitely not enough to share lifelong issues he’s dealt with. 

Turning on his feet, he faced the other boy who was leaning on the door frame of the bathroom. And his shirt was back on, thank God. They looked at each other for a second before Newt changed the subject, “do you want to eat anything?”

“No thank you, I don’t want to impose myself. I should probably go anyway.”  
Newt frowned at the sudden change in his behavior. “You’re not imposing. I told you to come with me, so that means I don’t mind you staying here for the night if you don’t feel safe going home.”

“After contemplating I could be potential murderer, you don’t mind putting up a dealer?”

There he was, smirking again. Newt rolled his eyes “I’ve dealt with worse. And I’m too nice of a pal for you to hurt me anyway.”

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up. “Oh please, get off your high horse.”

“You wish.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! i'll post the next part at some point, i just have no idea when yet
> 
> here are the links  
> deezer: https://www.deezer.com/fr/playlist/7740678742  
> spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6EyHEQwssy8Gsav7oIZjyU?si=o8d3A-w8Tnm7xOyG_PMRbA


End file.
